


Things we lost to the fire (not yet)

by Phoenix_Soar



Series: Wicked Thing [14]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel/Demon Relationship, Angst and Porn, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comeplay, Face-Fucking, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Inappropriate Use of Wine, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Marathon Sex, Pillow Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining, Porn with Feelings, Requited Unrequited Love, Rimming, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Sex in the Bookshop (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25562419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Soar/pseuds/Phoenix_Soar
Summary: Crowley is a desperate thing, and he can feel cracks forming in his confident mask as he expounds on exactly why Armageddon is less than optimal.After delivering the Antichrist, Crowley is faced with the fear of losing the one thing he cares about. He tries to show Aziraphale all that they stand to lose if the world were to end.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Wicked Thing [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546879
Comments: 38
Kudos: 163





	Things we lost to the fire (not yet)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iomurphy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iomurphy/gifts).



> Part 14 of the 'Wicked Thing' verse. To understand the context of this fic, please read the first part ['Wicked Games'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286790), and ['Just, let me'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22868320).  
> (Also mild references to ['Broken Brakes'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23078722) and ['A Question of Fidelity'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23438815).)
> 
> This fic is for **iomurphy** who very rightly said, _you know what else you can't have if Armageddon happens? Sweet sweet loving with your hereditary enemy._ Honestly, I was a goner. Thank you for inspiring this part! <3
> 
> This is set in Soho 2008, right after Crowley and Aziraphale strike their new deal to influence the Antichrist. A succinct summary of this fic is ‘feels and filth’.

Crowley is a desperate thing, in a way he’d felt only once before as he drowned in boiling sulphur.

Crowley is a desperate thing, and he can feel cracks forming in his confident mask as he paces around the backroom of Aziraphale’s bookshop, expounding on exactly why Armageddon is less than optimal.

He hasn’t spent a lot of his existence brooding specifically about the end times - but now that it is upon them, every fibre of him rails against it.

Thwarting an Apocalypse six thousand years in the making is not something a lone Demon can accomplish, however. Even as he puts on the dramatics for Aziraphale, he can feel despair tightening its noose right up until the Angel sets aside his doubts to strike their new accord.

‘Godfathers,’ Aziraphale murmurs, beaming incongruously at the prospect of raising the Antichrist. ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’

‘It’s not that bad once you get used to it,’ Crowley says with a wry smile as he shakes Aziraphale’s hand.

Predictably, Aziraphale’s expression sours at the jape about Falling. Crowley doesn’t mind, right now just relieved they are on the same page.

And yet, the anxious energy welling up within him since his trip to Tadfield doesn’t dissipate in the slightest. It buzzes through him, ringing in his ears and closing about his throat like a vice, tensing every muscle in his body.

He looks at Aziraphale’s hand, soft and warm around his. The Angel makes to withdraw and Crowley tightens his grip.

‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale sounds surprised.

Crowley doesn’t move for several seconds. Dolphins and gorillas, Glyndebourne and Regency snuffboxes, restaurants and bookshops … every point he’d listed, whether of his own interests or Aziraphale’s, in favour of saving Earth is as valid as the next, yes.

But he has refrained from mentioning the elephant* in the room, his deepest reason for wanting a world where neither Heaven nor Hell holds any jurisdiction. Yet.

(* Or the snake, as it were, literally.)

Sombrely, Crowley looks up. ‘Know what else we stand to lose if the world ends?’

Aziraphale stays quiet, caught on the edge of his seat amid their frozen handshake. He waits, and Crowley realises Aziraphale knows perfectly well what he means - and what’s coming next.

There is no sense in pretending or drawing it out. In one swift move, Crowley is on his feet, tugging Aziraphale up and forward. The Angel comes with hardly a touch of resistance, the sight of his widening eyes the only thing Crowley registers before Aziraphale is in his arms.

Crowley kisses him, heated and desperate and with no pretence of innocence. Aziraphale responds with a soft noise of surprise and pleasure, in that way he does when Crowley is the one to initiate things between them*.

(* Depending on the day, Crowley finds this reaction either endearing or infuriating. Occasionally both.

Aziraphale has always been the bold one, even in discretion, about inviting Crowley into his bed. On the other hand, it had taken Crowley centuries to reach a similar point.)

Their right hands are still locked in a handshake, caught awkwardly between their chests. Crowley intertwines their fingers together, tightening his other arm around Aziraphale’s middle as they kiss. Aziraphale melts into the embrace, sinking his free hand into Crowley’s long hair.

To his mild surprise, Aziraphale’s reciprocation is not as fervent as the Angel tends to be. His soft lips are pliant against his, following Crowley’s lead, and when Crowley coaxes them open, Aziraphale allows him in with a low moan, letting Crowley plunder his mouth and suck on his tongue.

He takes everything Crowley throws into the increasingly filthy kiss with sweet little sounds that shoot directly to Crowley’s cock. Fuelled by his anxious energy, Crowley nips at Aziraphale’s bottom lip, tugging with his teeth. Again, the Angel lets him, gently stroking his hand through Crowley’s hair while the Demon pours all of himself into the kiss, their joined mouths a conduit.

As Aziraphale pets his hair again, Crowley, at long last, feels himself calm, his body no longer wound tight like a spring. Their kiss gentles and it dawns on Crowley how Aziraphale, without a word exchanged, had known to give exactly what Crowley needed in his agitation. His heart flutters.

Soothing Aziraphale’s bitten lips with an apologetic swipe of his tongue, Crowley lets go of his hand to cradle his face instead. He has made a wet mess between them, but he can’t bring himself to pull away and clean them up, instead intent on kissing Aziraphale slow and deep.

It’s something Crowley has long dreamed of getting to do without hearing the ticking of a time bomb. And now with the shadow of Apocalypse upon them, his aversion to the prospect of ever having to give this up burns through him stronger than Hellfire.

Because that’s the ultimatum, isn’t it - without this world and its humans with all of their wonders and disasters, Crowley cannot have this with Aziraphale.

He cannot have Aziraphale at all, not even the shadow of him he is lucky enough to have now.

He trembles at the thought and clutches at Aziraphale harder, kissing him until the last hint of wine disappears from his lips, leaving behind Crowley’s favourite taste; pure Aziraphale.

His thirst is nowhere near quenched when Aziraphale eventually pulls away. Crowley chokes back a protest, looking down at Aziraphale’s dilated blue eyes, flushed cheeks, and the glistening evidence of that glorious kiss all over his mouth and chin.

He can’t remember the last time Aziraphale had looked so well-debauched from a kiss alone.

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale whispers when the Demon leans in again, ‘we should stop.’

Crowley stills.

‘We…’ Aziraphale swallows, his cheeks flushed. ‘We can’t _just_ -’

It clicks for Crowley then. ‘Can’t what? _Just_ kiss?’

Aziraphale turns even redder, stricken. ‘I mean … we shouldn’t -’

_Right, of course_. How could he have slipped? Crowley is a wicked thing and this is a wicked game they play, in clandestine meetings in dark places. This is a wicked game and players don’t get to just _kiss_ or _make love_.

With a shiver, Crowley recalls the time, the one night, they had abandoned the farce of the game. It has been nearly 70 years and he remembers every moment of it, the bittersweet joy of Aziraphale expressing his love for him, right here in this room.

It was the only time they’d been allowed to share a kiss stemming from a place of pure feeling alone; the one chance to make love, on the very sofa behind Crowley, until first light.

Crowley breathes out harshly. He can back off right now and let this become another transgression they never address again. He can walk away and start on a plan for the next eleven years…

Eleven years. Is that all the time he has left with Aziraphale on this Earth?

Hissing under his breath, he pulls Aziraphale into his arms again, turning them around to press the Angel against his worktable.

‘Crowley,’ exclaims Aziraphale as his lower back hits the wooden edge. The refilled wine bottles on the table shake. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Answering my question.’

‘What d -’ Aziraphale is cut off with a hasty kiss.

‘Things we’d lose if the world ended,’ Crowley mutters against the Angel’s lips before dropping inelegantly to his knees.

This is fine, he thinks as he grapples with the buttons on Aziraphale’s trousers with shaking fingers.

So what if they can’t acknowledge the truth about their forbidden relationship? So what if he can’t just kiss Aziraphale like lovers do? So what if all Crowley is allowed is the occasional fuck?

It’s fine.

Aziraphale gasps when the Demon gives up on the buttons and banishes everything the Angel is wearing below the waist*.

(* For the first time in centuries, they appear not neatly folded on some level surface, but haphazardly strewn across the room; trousers flung on the back of the sofa, a tartan sock draped over a lampshade, its twin nowhere in sight…)

Crowley grips the Angel by his hips, only to draw up short. All that greets him is a thatch of blond curls on otherwise featureless skin between Aziraphale’s plump legs.

Aziraphale is blushing. ‘I - I wasn’t expecting … tonight…’

Crowley hesitates, at a loss. He is not used to this; Aziraphale usually has an effort already picked out by the time they get to shagging.

Of course, he’d just said he hasn’t been expecting sex, but -

‘Do you want to fuck or no?’ Crowley asks, because frankly, he has neither the presence of mind nor the patience to beat about the bush tonight. His whole being is still thrumming with anxious energy, thoughts of Armageddon and losing Aziraphale locked in a whirlwind battle within him.

‘I take it that you do…?’ Aziraphale says very softly.

Normally Crowley would roll his eyes at Aziraphale’s typical remark on the obvious. But he can’t be arsed right now; either Aziraphale declines and Crowley leaves, or Aziraphale agrees and Crowley fucks the heaven out of him*.

(* He is allowed to kiss Aziraphale, at least, when they fuck.

Their game is a ridiculous one; one borne of desire and sheer desperation on both parts, Crowley has come to realise. But it’s too late to change the rules now.)

‘It’s up to you,’ Crowley says flatly. He buries his nose in the blond curls, right where a prick or cunt would be. Flicking his tongue out, he licks between Aziraphale’s thighs to stroke over the sensitive skin of his perineum, before unleashing the inhuman length of his tongue to tease at his rim.

Aziraphale jolts slightly, leaning heavily against the table as his legs fall open for Crowley.

‘Is that a yes?’

Breathing heavily, Aziraphale whispers, ‘I - yes. Yes. Please,’ he licks his lips, reddening even further, ‘show me.’

‘What?’ Crowley nuzzles his pelvis.

‘The things we’d lose if,’ Aziraphale swallows, ‘if the world ended.’

With a hum, Crowley draws back. He runs his fingers through Aziraphale’s pubic hair. ‘Gonna give me something to work with?’

‘What do you prefer?’

‘You know it doesn’t matter to me,’ Crowley grunts, leaning in to lick at Aziraphale’s perineum once more.

Shuddering, Aziraphale glances away to his right. Crowley doesn’t have to turn to know what he’s looking at.

The sofa.

He can almost see Aziraphale’s thoughts written on his face, the memories of that night in 1941. Unbidden, the images come to Crowley, of Aziraphale spread out on that sofa, his luscious thighs cradling Crowley’s head and then his hips as they made love; Aziraphale’s mouth warm and impassioned against Crowley’s, his cunt slick and clenching around him; and Aziraphale welcoming Crowley into his very heart as, for just one night, Crowley made a home there in Aziraphale’s arms.

Stilling, Crowley wonders if Aziraphale intends to go for that, to wear a cunt and have a repeat of that night from seven decades ago.

Only, there never can be a _repeat_ , can there? A single night of love-making, that was all he was promised.

They’ve been intimate in the bookshop a few more times since, after that desperate shag in Crowley’s car the night Aziraphale brought him the holy water*. And though each encounter was inevitably haunted by what went down in ’41, not once have they fucked on the sofa again.

(* Sometimes, when Crowley allows himself to dwell on those memories, he doesn’t know which one hurts more.)

If he is honest, Crowley has been glad for that. He doesn’t want their only night of love tainted by their game, this vulgar pretence of caring nothing for each other.

There is a whiff of a miracle and Crowley finds his mouth nudged aside by the sudden manifestation of a penis and balls. The thick, familiar length of Aziraphale’s cock is already half erect.

‘I think I shall go with this for tonight,’ Aziraphale mumbles. He is very deliberately not looking at the sofa.

Crowley raises an eyebrow. ‘Whatever you like, angel.’

And then he is snatching up a bottle from behind Aziraphale to upend it over the Angel’s cock, dousing his shaft and balls in red wine.

Aziraphale yelps in surprise. ‘Crowley, _what_ \- ?!’ He chokes on the words when Crowley drags the length of his tongue from the base of his cock to his head, pausing to kiss the tip.

Meeting Aziraphale’s eyes heatedly, Crowley repeats the action. Again he shows off the full length of his tongue, this time winding it, long and serpentine, around the thick shaft to lick every last drop of wine from Aziraphale’s cock.

‘That - that was a waste of perfectly good alcohol,’ says the Angel shakily, his fingers digging into the edge of the table.

‘Wouldn’t call it a waste,’ murmurs Crowley, wrapping a hand around Aziraphale’s cock as he dips lower to lick the wine off his balls. He gently sucks them into his mouth, listening to the Angel’s increasingly heavy breathing as he laves his tongue wetly over him, waiting patiently for Aziraphale’s cock to fully harden in his hand.

He can read Aziraphale’s impatience in the quiet sounds falling from his mouth, the way he shifts from one leg to the other. It’s only a matter of time before -

Aziraphale winds his fingers through Crowley’s hair, half-petting, half-tugging. ‘Crowley, please,’ he begs.

There it is, Crowley thinks with a flare of satisfaction. With a few more kisses to Aziraphale’s sac, Crowley turns to his flushed cock, now stiff and pressed to Aziraphale’s belly. He licks another slow stripe up the bulging nerve, laving his tongue around Aziraphale’s head before carefully wrapping his lips around it.

‘Oh, yes,’ Aziraphale whimpers.

Crowley looks up at him. He waits.

‘Why aren’t you -?’ Aziraphale begins, a hint of frustration in his voice. But then understanding dawns when Crowley grabs him by the buttocks.

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale breathes, his blue eyes darkening with heightening arousal. ‘Oh, I … are you sure?’

We’ve done this before, Crowley might have reminded him if he didn’t have a mouthful of cock. As it is, he squeezes Aziraphale’s arse harder, both chiding and encouraging.

Biting his lower lip, Aziraphale returns his hands to Crowley’s hair, holding his head in place as he carefully begins to rock his hips.

Crowley groans, loosening his throat and pressing the flat of his tongue against Aziraphale’s prick as the Angel gently fucks his mouth. His cock is thick enough to stretch Crowley’s lips, just toeing the line between a comfortable and uncomfortable fit, and Crowley wants to fucking gag* on it, but Aziraphale is going so _slow_ -

(* Crowley’s natural lack of a gag reflex is immaterial.)

He slaps Aziraphale’s arse, with just enough sting to make the Angel jolt.

‘My dear, I -’

Crowley glares up at him, hollowing his cheeks as he gives Aziraphale’s prick a searing suck.

With a shuddering exhale, Aziraphale tightens his grip on Crowley’s hair, finally beginning to thrust hard into Crowley’s mouth. The Demon massages his arse cheeks, humming wantonly around Aziraphale’s prick as he presses in deeper and deeper until Crowley is swallowing hotly around him, his nose hitting Aziraphale’s pelvis with every rock of his hips.

Aziraphale is moaning his name, eyes closed and head tilted back. He begins to fall out of rhythm, his fingers tangling painfully in Crowley’s curls.

‘Ah, ah, Crowley, I -! I … I’m close, my dear, I - I can’t -!’

The moment Aziraphale freezes with a helpless cry, Crowley pulls off. He closes his eyes just as he catches Aziraphale’s come on his face, semen streaking his cheeks, nose and mouth to drip off his chin onto his shirt.

‘Oh!’ Aziraphale is staring down at him, chest heaving as he catches his breath. ‘Oh, I - I didn’t mean to -’

‘Lick it off.’

Crowley stills as soon as the words leave him. He doesn’t know where in the blessed heavens they came from - but before he can take them back, Aziraphale’s soft hands are cupping his face.

The Angel leans down, closing his eyes as he carefully runs his tongue over the mess on Crowley’s left cheek.

‘A-Aziraphale, I,’ Crowley stammers, stricken, ‘I didn’t mean it.’

Aziraphale doesn’t relent, humming under his breath as he methodically licks Crowley’s cheek clean. He urges Crowley to his feet, putting his arms around his neck as he continues to clean him up, licking his own come off the Demon’s face.

Shaken and incredibly aroused, Crowley winds his arms around the Angel’s middle and heaves him up onto the worktable. Aziraphale immediately wraps his bare legs around Crowley’s hips, trapping him within their odd little embrace. Crowley leans into it, deciding to simply enjoy the moment. He huffs a laugh when Aziraphale licks at his nose, his warm tongue tracing its contours before his mouth follows.

And then his heart kicks up again when Aziraphale moves to lick the come off Crowley’s lips. His swipes his tongue over them, again and again, before sucking sweetly on them. With a hiss, Crowley pushes forward, kissing the Angel fiercely.

There is still spunk on his chin, but Crowley can’t bring himself to care as he licks into Aziraphale’s mouth, more aggressively than usual. This is what he is here for, why he’s playing this fucking game tonight, and he moans when the Angel kisses him back just as ardently.

Aziraphale tastes so much of _himself_ in that moment, the bitterness of his own spend mixing with the natural flavour of his mouth, and Crowley can’t get enough. He is so hard in his tight-fitting jeans it’s almost painful, and he whines when Aziraphale shoves a hand between them to cup his erection.

After a few impatient tugs on Crowley’s snakehead belt, Aziraphale miracles the front of his pants open, taking Crowley’s leaking prick in his hand. Crowley groans at the feel of Aziraphale’s soft palm on him, growing wetter by the second as the Angel gathers the precum beading on Crowley’s cockhead to slick him up.

Aziraphale’s grip is tight and perfect on him, jerking his cock with swift twists of his hand. Crowley feels the heat pooling in his gut, threatening to engulf him, and he breaks off their kiss with a gasp.

‘Wait.’

‘Come for me,’ Aziraphale whispers against his lips.

Crowley grabs his wrist, stilling his hand. ‘Wait, wait. Not yet.’

Aziraphale blinks at him, confused, as he reluctantly lets go. ‘What’s wrong?’

Crowley exhales, feeling the spike of that anxious energy inside him again. He doesn’t want to end this yet; he wants to keep holding Aziraphale, wants an excuse to keep kissing him.

‘’M not done,’ Crowley says hoarsely, ‘showing you the things we’d lose.’

Aziraphale’s eyes widen for a moment. ‘Ah. R-right, that’s … that’s why we are …’ he trails off, his cheeks red. He looks away. ‘What else, then?’

‘Look at me,’ Crowley mutters.

Aziraphale does and is immediately caught up in a kiss, Crowley’s hands cradling his face. The Angel leans into it, allowing Crowley to suck on his bottom lip before drawing away.

‘You’ve already shown me that one,’ he mumbles.

Crowley’s hands are trembling. For a terrible second, he considers shouting at Aziraphale to just _drop it_ , drop this farce and admit the truth of their feelings for each other; to just let himself be held and kissed and loved for the sake of it, without drawing the veil of this wicked game over everything. The world could be ending in little more than a decade, and Aziraphale is _still_ -

Gritting his teeth, Crowley pushes Aziraphale down to lie back on the table, miracling the wine bottles out of the way*.

(* They reappear in Aziraphale’s liquor cupboard, though completely in the wrong order**.

** The order in which Aziraphale arranges his wines is as unnecessarily complicated as the book arrangement in his shop.)

‘Like I said,’ Crowley growls, ‘’m not done.’

He pushes Aziraphale’s legs up by the backs of his thighs. ‘Hold ‘em,’ he says shortly.

Aziraphale rushes to grab them under his knees, blushing at being left so completely exposed.

Crowley doesn’t give him the chance to say anything else, dropping back to his knees and parting Aziraphale’s arse cheeks. He appraises the view for a moment; he can almost feel Aziraphale’s increasing sense of embarrassment and lust, and he drags the anticipation out for a few torturous seconds before diving right in.

‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale cries, his voice high as the Demon applies his fluttering tongue, dripping with saliva, on his rim.

Crowley teases at the wrinkled ring of muscle, circling it over and over and liking the way it quivers under his tongue. With a wet lick over it, Crowley presses his mouth over the puckered hole, sucking gently.

Aziraphale bucks his hips, prompting Crowley to pin him down by the waist as he continues to tease Aziraphale’s hole open. Eventually, the muscle loosens enough to allow in Crowley’s tongue, and he revels in the pleasure that fills Aziraphale’s voice as Crowley begins to fuck him open. Aziraphale’s walls are hot and snug around him, and Crowley eagerly licks and massages along them until he bottoms out, sucking hotly on the rim as he twists his tongue inside Aziraphale.

The Angel is near incoherent by then, his toes curled and thighs shaking under Crowley’s onslaught. Watching Aziraphale’s spent cock stirring again, Crowley pulls off to hiss, ‘You like it when I do this, don't you … you just _love_ having my tongue inside your greedy little arse or cunt.’

Whining, Aziraphale cants his hips, seeking Crowley’s mouth again.

He chuckles darkly. ‘Won’t get much of this when the world ends, hmm?’

Aziraphale almost wails when Crowley packs all of his tongue inside him again, fucking him open enthusiastically. For a moment, Crowley considers bringing Aziraphale to orgasm again with just this.

But what he wants is another kind of closeness, so eventually, he eases his tongue out. Dropping an apologetic kiss at Aziraphale’s protest, Crowley straightens, lubricating the fingers of his right hand with a swift miracle.

He slides a finger inside Aziraphale’s loosened hole, working it in all the way up to the third knuckle. ‘All right?’ he asks quietly.

‘Y-yes,’ Aziraphale says, breathing hard. ‘Please. More.’

With a hum, Crowley leans over the prone Angel, nuzzling in to kiss his neck as he pumps his finger. Snapping off another miracle, he has the Angel completely nude under him then, his dress shirt, waistcoat and jacket discarded in the general direction of the sofa.

Aziraphale makes a noise of surprise but doesn’t object when Crowley trails kisses up his neck. He wraps his legs around Crowley’s hips again while his hands settle about Crowley’s shoulders.

‘Unfair,’ Aziraphale complains, tilting his head for Crowley to suck on his pulse.

Crowley nips at the reddening skin. ‘What’s unfair?’

‘You’re still fully dressed.’

‘I assure you, my dick is hanging out,’ Crowley says wryly, resuming his languid attack on Aziraphale’s neck.

‘That doesn’t change the fact you’re otherwise covered up, unlike me,’ says Aziraphale. ‘You won’t even let me feel your dick.’ He pronounces the last word in the disapproving way he parrots the colloquial terms Crowley occasionally throws around.

‘Oh, you’ll be feeling my dick in the most intimate way before the night is out.’

At that, Aziraphale squirms, his breath hitching audibly. Crowley presses a second finger inside him, leaning up at the same time to kiss him on the lips.

Aziraphale welcomes the kiss readily this time, clinging to Crowley and moaning loudly at the feel of Crowley’s long fingers scissoring him open.

They stay like that for Crowley doesn’t know how long, exchanging passionate kisses while he prepares Aziraphale. At some point, Aziraphale impatiently gets rid of Crowley’s clothes with a snap of his own fingers. He runs his hands over Crowley’s heated skin, raking his nails down Crowley’s naked back and teasing incessantly at his nipples until Crowley, panting into Aziraphale’s mouth by then, twists a third finger inside Aziraphale.

The Angel cries out, his focus derailed from pleasuring Crowley as the slender fingers drive into him. His cock is hard again, red and straining against his stomach.

‘ _Ohh_ , oh, oh C-Crow - aah!’ Aziraphale arches his back, his mouth slack under Crowley’s. ‘Oh, I can’t - oh, Crowley, I’m … please, I - too close, too close!’

With one more kiss, Crowley slips his fingers out, stroking soothingly over his stretched entrance.

‘Are you -’ Licking his lips, Aziraphale looks hopefully at Crowley’s prick, poking out through his undone jeans. ‘Are you going to …?’

It is what Crowley has been working up to, but he can’t resist bringing back their age old question, ‘What do you want, angel?’

Aziraphale visibly shivers. Pushing Crowley back, he slides off the worktable and turns around. With a pointed look at Crowley over his shoulder, Aziraphale bends over the table, resting his upper body and jutting his arse out in open invitation.

‘What do you think?’ Aziraphale replies breathlessly.

Crowley’s mouth goes dry.

He is tempted, so very tempted. Crowley can almost feel the pull between them, helpless in the face of Aziraphale offering himself so guilelessly. And it’d be so easy, to just drape himself over the Angel, a position they’ve been in countless times before…

But not tonight. It is not the type of closeness Crowley is craving.

He indulges Aziraphale for a moment, slicking up his cock and rubbing it between the Angel’s plump cheeks. But when Aziraphale pushes back, trying to get Crowley inside him, Crowley pulls away. He tugs Aziraphale up by the hips, spinning him around so they are face-to-face.

‘Not like that,’ Crowley tells him quietly and promptly crowds the Angel up against the nearest vertical surface*, which is the bookshelf adjacent to the worktable.

(* Crowley would’ve gone for a nice, sturdy wall, but seeing that every wall in Aziraphale’s abode, even in the backroom, is covered with bookshelves…)

‘Why …?’ Aziraphale begins, puzzled when Crowley indicates him to grab a waist-high shelf behind him with both hands.

‘Hold yourself up,’ Crowley tells him, ‘and put your legs around me again. C’mon,’ he adds when Aziraphale hesitates, ‘it should be a breeze for you, strong Principality and all.’

‘But why - ?’

‘I could hold you up myself with a bit of demonic strength, but I’d rather focus that energy on something better.’

‘Wouldn’t it be much easier if I just turned around?’

‘No. You face me.’

‘But, at this angle, it’ll be tricky. Now if we were to lie dow -’

‘I don’t care half as much about the fucking as long as I get to kiss you while doing it,’ Crowley bursts out, no longer caring.

Aziraphale’s jaw slackens, his blue eyes huge and almost luminous right then. ‘Crowley…!’

Crowley looks at him unhappily. ‘D’you want me to fuck off? I can go. We can pretend this never - _mmph_!’

His heart almost gives out when Aziraphale practically launches at him, flinging his arms around Crowley and crushing their mouths together. On instinct, Crowley returns the kiss, his heart singing at the wet slide of their lips and the press of Aziraphale’s tongue inside his mouth.

Clinging to each other, they kiss for so long that Crowley loses track of time. All that exists for him right then is Aziraphale, his solid weight in Crowley’s arms, the warmth of his comforting embrace, the sweetness of his lips - all of which sink into Crowley’s very being, leaving a permanent, if invisible, brand that he will treasure for what remains of his existence.

He knows what it spells out, this bittersweet scar on his very essence: _home_.*

(* Even if it is one he is not meant to keep. Demons don’t get happy-ever-afters.)

But they can only kiss for so long. Cupping Crowley’s face, Aziraphale breaks away gently, breathing hard.

‘My dear, I wish … oh, I wish so very much that …’ But Aziraphale can’t bring himself to voice it. Looking up with a soft, sad smile, he whispers, ‘I’m sorry, but … we can’t just…’

Right, Crowley thinks, swallowing. Back to the rules, then.

He presses Aziraphale up against the bookshelf. ‘Do you still want this?’

With a shuddering exhale, Aziraphale simply braces his palms on the shelf behind him, hauling himself up and swinging his legs around Crowley’s naked hips. Crowley wraps his arms under his thighs, helping to hold him up.

‘Oh, but my books,’ Aziraphale says suddenly, glancing back at the heavy tomes adorning his shelf. ‘The ones I keep back here are incredibly valuable and precious.’

‘Good thing you’re facing me then,’ grunts Crowley, lightly rolling his hips to rub his prick against Aziraphale’s entrance.

‘There really are more comfortable options,’ Aziraphale begins, glancing aimlessly to his right again. At the sight of the sofa once more, the Angel grows ashen.

Crowley raises his eyebrows, following Aziraphale’s fixed gaze to his old sofa. ‘Really?’ he asks in a gravelly voice. ‘Sure you want to move this over there?’

It is the first time they have ever acknowledged what happened back in ’41 out loud. Aziraphale is frozen.

‘We could, if you wanted to,’ says Crowley quietly. ‘I could lay you down there and take you. It’d be soft. Comfortable. More room than your armchair. I could fuck you all night, give you my cock until you can’t orgasm anymore.’

It’s an obscene parody of how they had loved each other until morning light, seemingly so long ago. But Crowley can’t put it any other way. It’s something they never talk about - especially not now, back in their game.

For the longest time, Aziraphale doesn’t speak. Then he looks away from the sofa, and as if he hadn’t heard a word Crowley said, states matter-of-factly, ‘My books are still in danger like this. What if you accidentally stain - ?’

Crowley sighs. It’s almost a relief to go back to their pretence - to leave the memory of their love-making untarnished - and bite back all the sentimental things on the tip of his tongue to instead hiss in Aziraphale’s ear,

‘No, because I will empty myself so deep inside you’ll taste me on the back of your tongue - and you will take every last drop of me, won’t you, angel?’

Aziraphale whimpers, a sound caught somewhere between arousal and, Crowley thinks, hurt.

But they have, as the humans say, made their beds. Time to lie in it now.

Bringing their lips together in a kiss that can almost be described as sweet, Crowley rolls his hips, gently pressing his cock inside Aziraphale. The Angel tenses at the agonising breach of Crowley’s head inside him. Crowley pauses, waiting for Aziraphale to adjust to the stretch; he strokes his hands over his thighs soothingly.

At length, Aziraphale gives a terse nod. With a soft smile, Crowley kisses him again, partly to distract him, and then rolls his hips, pushing all the way inside. Aziraphale whines, his thighs quivering around Crowley.

‘Hey,’ Crowley murmurs, brushing their noses together. ‘All right, there?’

Aziraphale exhales, gentling against him once more. ‘Yes … yes, I’m …’ He opens his eyes. ‘You can move.’

‘Sure?’

‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake,’ Aziraphale says, looking mildly annoyed.

And that expression is so familiar that Crowley almost laughs. ‘All right, then,’ he drawls, trying to hide his grin.

It unfolds fully when Aziraphale’s irritation immediately dissolves into a look of helpless bliss when Crowley begins to fuck him properly, pulling out inch by increasing inch until his cock nearly clears Aziraphale’s arse.

Aziraphale keens when Crowley slams back in, burying himself fully inside the Angel with every thrust.

‘Oh, Crowley,’ he cries, tipping his head back against the bookshelf, eyes closed with pleasure.

‘Yeah? Feel good?’ Crowley grunts, letting his hips fall into the steady rhythm that is sure to build Aziraphale’s pleasure but keep him just from reaching the edge.

Aziraphale doesn’t reply, just moaning, words mixing with incoherent sounds. Bracing himself harder on the shelf, the Angel begins to roll his hips down, meeting Crowley’s hard thrusts eagerly. He is so tight around Crowley, all scorching heat and wet slickness inside, but so incredibly _tight_ , his supple walls gripping every inch of Crowley’s prick so hard, so _greedy_ , that Crowley would fear that he is hurting Aziraphale if not for the abject, undeniable, overwhelming _ecstasy_ the Angel is exuding.

Crowley drowns in the vision of him, rejoicing in the fact that no one else ever has, will or can make the Angel look, sound or feel like this. This is something of Aziraphale that belongs to Crowley alone.

He presses his lips to Aziraphale’s parted ones in a sloppy kiss, one that Aziraphale tries to return with a few flicks of his tongue but is too far gone to do it properly. Chuckling, Crowley presses a kiss to his chin, his jaw, his cheek…

‘Dolphins and gorillas,’ he says breathlessly, kissing Aziraphale’s right cheek, ‘feeding the ducks at St James,’ he kisses his nose, ‘concerts at Royal Albert Hall,’ under his eye, ‘authentic sushi restaurants,’ right by his ear, ‘good vintage wine,’ his temple, ‘silver snuffboxes,’ his forehead, ‘old books and bookshops,’ and then, finally,

‘All of it will go up in fire and flame and there will be eternity left,’ he pants against the Angel’s lips, ‘but there will be no eternity of _this_.’

And Crowley kisses Aziraphale on the mouth, muffling his cries of pleasure as he snaps his hips, fucking into Aziraphale as hard and deep as he can go until the Angel clenches around him, his cock spurting over both of their stomachs. The moment he feels Aziraphale come, Crowley lets himself go, giving up on the sheer power he’s been using to hold his own climax back since Aziraphale touched his prick.

Crowley keeps kissing Aziraphale through it, gentling his thrusts but not stopping. Aziraphale whimpers into his mouth, and then abruptly lets go of the shelf to wrap his arms around Crowley’s neck instead, shaking helplessly. Caught off guard, Crowley just manages to hold Aziraphale up.

As he himself begins to come down from his high, Crowley feels the happy glow inside him dim. He’ll have to let go of Aziraphale soon, end the latest round of their game and leave, for all appearances as if nothing had happened.

And per usual, Aziraphale probably won’t allow Crowley to kiss him again, not now…

With a low growl, Crowley tightens his hold on Aziraphale, and calling upon his demonic strength, spins around and proceeds to deposit him on the floor. There is no humanly way possible to achieve this gracefully, so Crowley sets off a bunch of miracles; a black quilt whisked over from Crowley’s own flat covers the floor, and the two of them land softly on it, Aziraphale on his back and Crowley still inside him.

‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale blinks up at him through his post-coital haze.

Tensing his muscles, Crowley ensures his spent prick remains hard with one miraculous thought. Surely Aziraphale won’t say no to one more round, he thinks, leaning down to kiss the Angel again.

Aziraphale returns the kiss but still looks puzzled when Crowley draws back. But then Crowley rolls his hips and his mouth drops open.

‘Oh! You’re still…’ the Angel trails off, his face reddening as he looks down at where their bodies join.

Shuddering a little, Aziraphale says, clutching at Crowley’s hips, ‘My dear, I’ve come twice already.’

Grinding lazily into him, Crowley dryly thinks that Aziraphale certainly didn’t have complaints back in ’41, when Crowley had kept himself hard through countless orgasms, fucking Aziraphale’s cuntand arse for hours. And Aziraphale certainly can and has dispensed miracles to stave off overstimulation when it suits him.

‘They say third time’s the charm,’ says Crowley instead, tweaking at Aziraphale’s nipple and making him jump. ‘Besides, better take what you can get now, angel. If Armageddon comes to pass, there won’t be any humans to shag, hmm?’

Aziraphale stares up at him. Crowley knows what’s coming and braces himself.

‘Crowley, I … I told you before,’ Aziraphale gasps a little on a particularly hard thrust, ‘my dear, I don’t … I have never … with humans. Or,’ he licks his lips, ‘with anyone else.’

Crowley can swear that his heart swells with joy at the affirmation. Of course, he remembersAziraphale telling him this when they’d met in Kensington Palace; but that was a long time ago and he wants the reassurance again.

‘That was three hundred years ago.’

‘And we’ve been doing this for, what, seventeen hundred years before that,’ Aziraphale snaps.

Crowley almost stops, shocked to hear Aziraphale refer so bluntly to their sexual relationship.

Aziraphale’s eyes are blazing up at him. ‘If you’re enough for me for seventeen centuries, what makes you think I’d turn to anyone else for another three?’

Crowley peers down at him intensely for a long moment, still grinding into him. He lowers his head, burying his face in Aziraphale’s neck.

‘I satisfy you then, sweetheart?’

Aziraphale inhales at the unexpected endearment, but he replies at once, with quiet confidence, ‘And I you …’ There is a short pause. ‘Don’t - don’t I? Since…’

‘Since Rome,’ Crowley confirms, without lifting his head. His heart is pounding away in his chest, and he fears that if he looks at Aziraphale now, everything he is forbidden from saying would come spilling out.

Instead, he turns to suck kisses on Aziraphale’s neck, mumbling, ‘Won’t be a Demon around for you to fuck, either, if the world ended.’

Aziraphale rests a hand on Crowley’s head, winding his fingers through the long red hair. ‘Well then,’ he says softly, ‘we’d better make sure our new accord works, hadn’t we?’

With that, Aziraphale coaxes Crowley to look up, meeting his eyes for a second before bringing the Demon down for a heart-wrenching kiss.

They don’t speak again after that, kissing long and deep as they gently rock together. Crowley thinks it is the sweetest fuck they’ve had over the two-millennia history of their little game. Both of them are dragged step by aching step to the brink of their pleasure with each slow stroke of his cock inside Aziraphale, not so much striking his sweet spot as caressing it, until the pressure and building tension becomes too much and they spill, crying out their release into each other’s mouths.

At the end of it, when Crowley has cleaned up every mess they’ve made, returning the backroom to its normal state of tidy untidiness and Aziraphale to a frumpy buttoned up Angel once more, he presses Aziraphale against his worktable again and kisses him.

He’s breaking a rule but he doesn’t care right now.

‘Everything will be lost if Armageddon comes to pass,’ Crowley says quietly, not letting go of the Angel. ‘Everything. But there is only one thing I cannot bear to lose.’ He looks Aziraphale in the eye. ‘I can’t.’

Aziraphale swallows. Crowley can feel him trembling. ‘And I … yes. Yes. We’ll … we’ll work on it. We’ve shaken on our new deal, haven’t we.’

‘Hmm.’ Crowley regards him for a moment. He leans down again and Aziraphale stops him with a hand on his chest, his eyes wide.

'Crowley …?’

‘Sealing our deal with a kiss,’ Crowley whispers.

This time, Aziraphale is the one who leans in*.

(* Because Crowley is a desperate thing who stands to lose one thing, _everything_ , to the fires of Armageddon … but so is Aziraphale.)

**Author's Note:**

> First things first: **PLEASE DO NOT** randomly pour liquor over your partner’s genitals. Alcohol burns. If you want to get frisky with it, do proper research on what’s safe and how.  
> In this fic, _that_ particular scene follows the magical ‘logic’ that since 1) it takes a monumental amount to get supernatural beings drunk, and 2) neither Crowley nor Aziraphale _expects_ wine to burn their skin … it just seemed like the ridiculous kinda thing they’d get up to idk
> 
> I might do a post-Armageddon segment next, just to balance out all these feels. Honestly, feel free to hit me up with prompts/ideas for this series (and maybe jealous!Crowley in general, even outside of this verse? I've been feeling that recently)
> 
> On a non-Wicked-Thing-related note, I recently banged out a monstrosity for #AwakeTheSnake July called 'Soul meets Soul', which you can find, along with my other Ineffable Husbands fics, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)
> 
> Drop a comment to flail with me or come hmu on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) or [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com)? <3


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